A Hungry Bear Won't Dance

Lasagna Bolognese Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 00:02:00 +0000

I made lasagna last week to help me tackle the physical and mental challenge of the daily classes and rehearsals involved in the staging I’m doing of Merce Cunningham’s Summerspace for the phenomenal dancers of The Juilliard School for their spring concert. My diet is mostly vegetarian, but it was a long, cold, and snowy winter, and lately, I’ve been craving lots of meaty fortification against the brutality of it all. It is the last I will make of winter’s hearty meals, however, for spring is here, and I am shedding. I even wore sandals today. And shorts. It was a Summerspace kind of day.

Thinking a lot lately of Merce and John Cage (Merce’s long-time partner and collaborator), I’ve been revisiting some of John's books and came across one of my favorite passages from Silence. A student of Zen Buddhism, and an avid wild mushroom hunter, John curiously searched for a Japanese haiku involving the fungus, and came across this one, by Bashō:

matsutake ya
shiranu ko no ha no
hebaritsuku

This haiku is literally translated into English as:

pine mushroom
ignorance leaf of tree
adhesiveness

John Cage found this haiku in R.H. Blyth's compilation of haiku poems, the autumn section, where Blyth translates the literal Japanese words into the following English haiku:

The leaf of some unknown tree
Sticking on a mushroom

The story goes that John read this translation to a Japanese composer friend (Ichiyanagi or Takahashi, he can’t remember who), and the composer replied that he found Blyth’s translation uninteresting, and, at Cage’s urging, came back two days later with this version:

Mushroom does not know
That leaf is
Sticking on it

After three years of thought on the matter, John created his own version:

That that’s unkown
Brings mushroom and leaf together

And then, later, this one:

What Leaf?
What Mushroom?

So, in honor of Merce and John and Summerspace at Juilliard next week, here’s my version:

The lost leaf of tree
and mushroom stick together

And this:

Wayward tree leaf,
Earthy mushroom togetherness

And taking some liberties:

Adhere to me, leaf
On your mushroomy free fall

Next time, Japanese mushroom lasagna it is. With shiso leaves, perhaps.

Lasagna Bolognese from Mario Batali 

Serves six to eight.

Ingredients

Ragù: 

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil 
2 medium onions, finely chopped 
1 carrot, finely chopped
 4 stalks celery, finely chopped 
5 cloves garlic, sliced 
1 pound veal, ground 
1 pound pork, ground 
4 ounces pancetta, ground 
1 8-ounce can tomato paste 
1 cup milk 
/2 cup white wine 
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
 Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Béchamel:

 5 tablespoons unsalted butter
 1/4 cup flour
 3 cups milk
 2 teaspoons salt 
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Lasagna: 

3/4 to 1 pound fresh pasta sheets, about 7 by 4 inches, or dried lasagne noodles blanched for 6 minutes and refreshed 
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano 
Oil for brushing

Cooking Instructions 

Ragù:

In a large heavy-bottom saucepan, heat olive oil. Add onion, carrot, celery, and garlic, and sweat over medium heat for about 5 minutes, until vegetables are translucent. Add veal, pork, and pancetta to the vegetables, and brown over high heat, stirring to keep the meat from sticking together. Add the tomato paste, milk, wine, thyme, and 1 cup water, and simmer over medium-low heat for 1 to 1 1/2 hours (if the ragù becomes too thick, add a little more water). Season to taste with salt and pepper, and remove from heat.

Béchamel:

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan, add the flour, and whisk until smooth. Cook over medium heat, stirring regularly, until the mixture turns golden brown, about 6 to 7 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the milk in a separate pan until it is just about to boil. Add the milk to the butter mixture, 1 cup at a time, whisking continuously until the sauce is very smooth. Bring to a boil and cook for 30 seconds longer. Remove from the heat and season with salt and nutmeg.

Assembly:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Brush a 9-by-13-inch glass baking dish with melted butter or oil, and layer in the following order from the bottom: ragù, pasta, béchamel, and grated cheese (saving about 1 cup béchamel for last topping), making 3 to 4 layers of pasta, finishing with ragù, béchamel, and 1/4 cup of the Parmigiano-Reggiano sprinkled over the top. Bake in the oven for 45 minutes, until the top is golden brown and the casserole is bubbling. Remove from the oven, allow to cool for 20 minutes, slice, and serve.

Gülümay’s Walnut-Garlic Spread with Hot and Sweet Peppers and Pomegranate Syrup (Muhammara)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:38:00 +0000

The busier I am, the more I take my clothes off, and no, it’s not as much fun as it sounds. I have been a busy little bee lately. A busy, clothes changing, dance video studying, rehearsal directing, Cunningham technique teaching bee. I’m a little too vain to traipse around the city in sweats and sneakers between my classes and rehearsals which are located at all corners of the city, so I choose an outfit in the morning, change into dance clothes to teach, and repeat this action three or more tedius times (snow boots on, snow boots off, all those bulky winter layers), depending on the number of classes I’m teaching and where. Now, I’m on spring break from the work I've been doing on Merce Cunningham’s Summerspace at Juilliard, and I have a much needed four day weekend, and a little time for blogging about delicious muhammara. In one outfit -- pajamas.

Muhammara is a roasted red pepper based Syrian spread which is now made in many surrounding areas, including Turkey. It is a healthy, and vibrant tasting dish, with a touch of sweetness that mitigates the spice of added chiles. I like this for breakfast, on my toast, but most of you will probably serve this as a spread for pita bread as an appetizer before a middle eastern meal.

In addition to being addictively savory, muhammara is also nutrient dense, and contains Vitamin C from the red peppers, Omega-3 fatty acids from the walnuts, some anti-oxidant properties in the pomegranate syrup, and anti-inflammatory activity in the garlic. In a food processor, it takes no time at all to make, but unfortunately, it also takes no time at all to eat; make a double recipe.

Gülümay’s Walnut-Garlic Spread with Hot and Sweet Peppers and Pomegranate Syrup (Muhammara)
from Ayla Algar’s Classical Turkish Cooking

Makes about 1 3/4 cups

12 large sweet red peppers (12 oz)
1 tablespoon water
2/3 cup walnuts
1 tablespoon crushed garlic
2/3 cup toasted sourdough bread crumbs
1 or 2 red jalapeños, seeded and minced (I used green ones)
1/4 cup fine olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely ground cumin seeds
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons pomegranate syrup (available in middle eastern markets)
2 tablespoons lemon juice

Although there is no real substitute for the sweet and sour flavor of pomegranate syrup, lemon juice will be adequate.

Roast peppers over a grill or gas flame, turning frequently until charred all over. Seal 10 minutes in a plastic bag, peel, seed, and chop. In a food processor, mix chopped peppers with 1 tablespoon water. Process to a moist paste. Set aside.

Pound walnuts with a garlic in a mortar. Stir in bread crumbs and jalapeños. Continue pounding until all ingredients are blended. Mix in the pureed peppers. Gradually mix in the olive oil and season with cumin, red pepper flakes, pomegranate syrup, and lemon juice (use additional lemon juice if pomegranate syrup is unavailable). Taste and adjust with salt and lemon juice. (Alternatively, you can make the whole dish in a food processor.) Let stand several hours or overnight for the flavors to blend and mature. Serve with croutons or on flatbread wedges or crackers.

Note from Banu: I sprinkled the top of mine with a few leaves of chopped parsley and a drizzle of olive oil.

Cabbage, Collard Greens, Red Onion, and Blood Orange Coleslaw

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 02:02:00 +0000

Four loads of laundry, two batches of chicken broth (one for egg-lemon celeriac and carrot soup, and one for the freezer), one soba noodle, French lentil, and swiss chard main dish, and one glass of Maker’s Mark later, I’m now comfortably writing on my couch, cat elongated next to me, the Olympics playing in the background, writing about cabbage, collard greens, and blood orange coleslaw from last week’s pulled pork feast.

Everyone around me is sick lately. Norwalk virus is skulking invisibly through Marymount and Juilliard, leaving dehydrated, weak, and nauseous students in its wake, and students and teachers alike are sneezing and sniffling through classes, having succumbed to the common cold. I’ve managed to stay healthy, and eating cabbage may be the secret.

Eat more cabbage!

Along with other cruciferous vegetables, it is purported to reduce cancer risks (especially lung, stomach and colon) by as much as 69 percent, and according to new studies, signals genes to create more enzymes that are responsible for detoxification of the body. It is rich in vitamin C, a known antioxidant, and a powerful immune system booster. With just three servings a week, you’ll lower your risk of heart disease, Alzheimer’s disease, and breast cancer. If cabbage isn’t your thing, other cruciferous vegetables provide similar protection, so it’s wise to add more collard greens, brussels sprouts, kale, Swiss chard, broccoli or cauliflower to your diet.

You should listen to me, you snifflers; I haven’t been sick in over a year. (She says, touching wood, cabbage slaw in belly...)

Cabbage, Collard Greens, Red Onion, and Blood Orange Coleslaw

1/2 head cabbage, chopped
4 or 5 collard green leaves, chopped
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
2 blood oranges, supremed
1 teaspoon celery seed
*homemade mayonnaise (optional -- if not using, add some olive oil, instead)
a bit of apple cider vinegar and maple syrup or sugar, if desired

Combine the first five ingredients. If using, add a little mayonnaise to combine. Splash in a bit of apple cider vinegar, and, if you like, add some maple syrup, or agave syrup, or sugar, to balance the acidity. (I didn’t add any additional sweetener, as the oranges were enough for me, and instead of plain apple cider vinegar, I used a bit of the barbecue sauce that I made for the pork.)

*Homemade Mayonnaise Recipe

1 egg yolk, room temperature
unflavored oil, such as grapeseed, or canola, about a cup, also at room temperature
lemon juice, to taste
salt

Whisk the egg yolk alone, and then, a few drops at a time, and very slowly, add the oil, whisking constantly, until the color of the yolk changes, and the oil incorporates with the egg, forming an emulsion. Continue adding the oil, slowly, and in a steady stream, until all is incorporated. Whisk in the lemon juice and the salt.

Indoor Pulled Pork Barbecue Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 19:47:00 +0000

Pulled pork barbecue with vinegar sauce is one of my favorite foods, and evokes images of sultry, humid, North Carolina days, kudzu coiling around tree branches, and bottomless glasses of sweet iced tea. But pulled pork barbecue in the middle of winter? Indoors? Yes, you can.

All you need is this Cook’s Illustrated recipe, a nice five pound boneless pork shoulder (mine came from Aberdeen Hill Farms via my food coop), some spices, and a little bit of time. After the success of the trial run, this is a recipe I’ll now make in larger quantities to relive Southern memories with college friends, and to introduce barbecue neophytes to the porky umami deliciousness that is this easy, smoky barbecue, and not that far from the barbecue I used to devour at Allen and Son Barbecue in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

In three short months I have to pull on a very attractive flesh colored unitard, and dance around onstage again in Boris Charmatz’s 50 Years of Dance when the piece tours to Amsterdam and Berlin. Eating fatty bbq and looking good in a flesh colored unitard is an oxymoron, but the aroma of smoky paprika mingling with this slow-roasted pork shoulder banished all skinny thoughts of salads, dance class, and the stationary bike. Winter’s for indulging, and we are in the thick of it.

I made an improvised version of coleslaw to go with the pork, and in addition to cabbage, I added a few chopped raw collard greens, blood oranges, and mixed them together with some homemade mayonnaise (next week's blog entry, this slaw). I don’t like coleslaw as a condiment to my sandwich, as some Southerners do, but on the side it provided a nice crunchy counter to the richness of the pork, and the blood oranges, while adding some bright color, also sweetly balanced out the vinegar present both in the sauce for the pork, and in the slaw. Sunday Southern brunch in my Brooklyn apartment. Who knew? Next time I'm making hush puppies, too; flesh colored unitard be damned.

Indoor Pulled Pork Barbecue Recipe
from Cook's Illustrated Magazine Jan/Feb 2010

Note from Banu: I made a version of the Lexington, NC vinegar sauce (listed among others, below) with only two tablespoons of ketchup and a splash of Tabasco, some minced garlic, and a little onion juice for more flavor. I also made a sauce with no tomato product at all, Eastern Carolina style, containing, simply, apple cider vinegar, salt and pepper, and some of the defatted juices leftover from cooking the pork. I actually preferred the first sauce I made (sorry Eastern North Carolinians!), as the vinegar was tamed by a bit of sugar and a little water, and I didn’t mind a little ketchup in the sauce for color. In any case, a vinegar based sauce is the way to go with pork; they are a perfect match.

Note: Sweet paprika may be substituted for smoked paprika. Covering the pork with parchment and then foil prevents the acidic mustard from eating holes in the foil. Serve the pork on hamburger rolls with pickle chips and thinly sliced onion. Alternatively, use 2 cups of your favorite barbecue sauce thinned with 1/2 cup of the defatted pork cooking liquid. The shredded and sauced pork can be cooled, tightly covered, and refrigerated for up to 2 days. Reheat it gently before serving.

serves 6-8

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons table salt
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons liquid smoke
1 boneless pork butt (aka pork shoulder, about 5 lbs), cut in half horizontally
1/4 cup yellow mustard
2 tablespoons ground black pepper
2 tablespoons smoked paprika (you can substitute sweet)
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Dissolve 1 cup salt, 1/2 cup sugar, and 3 tablespoons liquid smoke in 4 quarts cold water in large container. Submerge pork in brine, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 2 hours.

While pork brines, combine mustard and remaining 2 teaspoons liquid smoke in small bowl; set aside. Combine black pepper, paprika, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, remaining 2 teaspoons salt, and cayenne pepper in second small bowl; set aside. Adjust oven rack to lower middle position and heat oven to 325 degrees.

Remove pork from brine and dry thoroughly with paper towels. Rub mustard mixture over entire surface of each piece of pork. Sprinkle entire surface of each piece with spice mixture. Place pork on wire rack set inside foil lined rimmed baking sheet. Place sheet of parchment paper over pork, then cover with aluminum foil, sealing edges to prevent moisture from escaping. Roast pork for 3 hours.

Remove pork from oven; remove and discard foil and parchment. Carefully pour off liquid in bottom of baking sheet into a fat separator (or spoon off the fat with a ladle until a light film remains, and then gently use a paper towel to soak up the remaining fat from the surface of the pan juices) and reserve the pan juices for the sauce. Return pork to oven and cook, uncovered, until well browned, tender, and internal temperature registers 200 degrees on instant read thermometer, about 1 1/2 hours. Transfer pork to serving dish; tent loosely with foil, and rest for 20 minutes.

To serve: Using 2 forks, shred pork into bite-sized pieces. Toss with one cup sauce and season with salt and pepper. Serve, passing remaining sauce separately.

Lexington Vinegar Barbecue Sauce

1 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup ketcup 
1/2 cup water 
1 tablespoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon table salt
3/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes 
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl with 1/2 cup defatted cooking liquid and whisk to combine.

South Carolina Mustard Barbecue Sauce

1 cup yellow mustard 
1/2 cup white vinegar
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons hot sauce
1 teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper

  Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl with 1/2 cup defatted cooking liquid and whisk to combine.

Sweet and Tangy Barbecue Sauce  

1 1/2 cups ketchup
1/4 cup light or mild molasses 
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 
1 tablespoon hot sauce 
1/2 teaspoon table salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

While pork rests, pour 1/2 cup of defatted cooking liquid from fat separator into medium bowl; whisk in sauce ingredients.

Pulled Pork Bbq

Whole Wheat Cinnamon Rolls Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 23:34:00 +0000

“I love your color scheme! Happy Valentine’s Day!” This stranger may be as close as I get to a Valentine this year, a man who cupped his hands around his mouth to yell from across 5th Avenue in Brooklyn, and comment on my everyday brown coat, deep red leather gloves, and maroon patterned purse I was carrying while accomplishing Saturday’s errands. I was doing the usual grocery shopping, taking the requisite weekend trip to my neighborhood antique store, and to the Brooklyn Flea, on the perennial search for the elusive metal (or mirrored Deco) desk, and visiting the hardware store for paint swatches to confirm my suspicions that vivid teal behind my grass green couch is a perfectly acceptable choice, my apartment’s reds and oranges and myriad patterns notwithstanding. If my Valentine’s right, I’ve got a way with color.

Last week New York City was silenced by snow. Juilliard and Marymount canceled classes, so, on my snow day, I made cinnamon rolls. I have been craving the real deal cinnamon roll for a while now, and when I saw these dreamy pictures on a blog I read, out came the mixing bowls, the yeast and the flour. I am a problem baker. This time it was expired yeast, the culprit. Yeast expires? Well, yes, it does. And you used it still? Well, yes, I did. I have conducted an experiment, and now I know: science will not be fooled. If you use expired yeast, your cinnamon rolls will not rise. They will not rise, and the resulting dense, mini-buns may taste all right, but the texture’s nothing to do with the fluffy dreaminess in the pictures.

But I don’t care about those failed buns anymore; I’ve already moved on. There’s a pork shoulder roast in my refrigerator, waiting to be brined, that holds my heart’s affection. Tomorrow I am making indoor pulled pork barbeque, North Carolina style, and I know the day of brining, slow pork cooking, cabbage slaw making, and barbeque sauce marinating will put to rest the bad memories of those difficult cinnamon rolls. Who needs a Valentine when you’ve got a slow-cooked, spicy, pulled-pork sandwich to grip between your fingers and savor between your lips? Aw, yeah...

Whole Wheat Cinnamon Roll Recipe

Note from Banu: I am reluctant to provide my recipe here, since mine didn’t turn out so well, and since I improvised more than simply using old yeast (in the interest of a healthier roll, maple syrup for sugar, walnut oil for butter), it’s possible that there were many factors that led to the rock hard buns. So, that in mind, I am providing the links here and here that I used in my adapted recipe, and from those, perhaps you will be able to make a fluffy cinnamon roll, like the one from my dreams. And, if anyone has a fool-proof recipe (healthyish recipe preferred) for cinnamon rolls, I’d love to hear about it; I'm a staunch believer in giving second chances.

Bill Neal’s Shrimp and Grits Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 02:13:00 +0000

I’ve been in a Carolina frame of mind lately. Never mind that Chapel Hill was hit with eight inches of snow over the past couple of days, generally, at this time of year, the weather is easing up, and in the next month, spring arrives, with its colorful azaleas, heather, and rhododendrons dotting the campus and the lawns of the recessed houses that line Franklin Street. I spent four years in North Carolina while I was in college, and making this recipe sent me right back to that time, to Chapel Hill, and to Crook’s Corner, the restaurant that popularized Bill Neal’s now famous shrimp and grits.

As I was cooking, I remembered things in non-sequiturs: I remembered hearing the story from my roommate, Ericka, who, while working at Crook’s Corner, dumped a pitcher of ice water on the head of her ex-boyfriend as she served him and the girlfriend he left her for, and I remember my later boyfriend, Timothy, telling me about the Mexican cooks there who would eat whole jalapeños with their morning coffee, something I think of every time I toast red chiles to put on my cheese toast for breakfast. Coffee and jalapeños may be another perfect combination, the morning version of red wine and chocolate.

I remembered taking off in the middle of the night to visit the primate research center at Duke forest in my roommate’s Alfa Romeo convertible because she left us the keys, and because our friend Mike thought we should, and driving to Durham to eat at Wimpy’s Grill for lunch with my then boyfriend George, which may have been the trip that began my interest in traveling distances for the tastiest whatever-it-is I’m craving.

I remember seeing bands at the Cat’s Cradle, crashing frat parties, working at Pizza Hut and the Carolina Coffee Shop, eating black bean chili nearly everyday at Rosemary Street Cafe (and Pepper’s Pizza on the off days), having crushes on boys in bands, and boys in class, and boys playing hacky sack in The Pit, and studying about biology (but not too intently), and hoping I wouldn’t fail genetics. I remember house parties where the Pixies and fIREHOSE were playing on the stereo, and The Veldt and Dillon Fence were playing live, and I remember feeling trepidatious going into Schoolkids Records to buy a cassette tape (tape!) because the people working there were intimidating in the New York Kim’s Video kind of way.

I remember my purple plastic dinosaur key chain, and the red plaid mini-skirt I used to wear with fishnet stockings and pointy buckled shoes, and only top-lid black liquid eye-liner for makeup -- real deal 80s wear. I remember borrowing a silky antique robe, and, while wearing it, making nutritional yeast crusted tofu sandwiches for lunch with Michael, my boyfriend, the long-haired boy who worked at the vintage clothing store Time After Time. And I remember sweet iced tea, and Time Out’s disgustingly appealing Bucket O’ Bones that we used to eat after nights at Molly’s, and boys nodding to me with respect when we passed on the street, and everyone’s sugary hellos, and, coming from the North, being surprised when people answered “yes ma’am”, and “no sir”, to the professors in class, and sounded smart even with their Southern accents.

I thought I was so grown up then. And now, I make Bill Neal’s shrimp and grits for the first time in years, and at 40, I’m cooking in my supposed grown-up kitchen. Now, a non-grown-up grown-up, I am aware that I haven’t figured anything out, and I’m simply relaxing into the absurd and unpredictable voyage, with a warm bowl of shrimp and grits and these wonderful memories.

Bill Neal’s Shrimp and Grits Recipe

Yield: 4 servings

2 cups water
One 14 1/2 ounce can chicken broth
3/4 cup half and half
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup stone ground grits 
3/4 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated 
1/4 cup parmesan cheese, grated 
2 tablespoons butter 
1/2 teaspoon tabasco sauce 
1/4 teaspoon white pepper 
3 slices bacon 
1 pound medium shrimp, peeled and deveined 
1/4 teaspoon black pepper 
1/8 teaspoon salt 
1/4 cup flour 
1 cup sliced mushrooms 
1/2 cup scallions, sliced 
2 cloves garlic, minced 
1/2 cup chicken broth 
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice 
1/4 teaspoon tabasco sauce 
lemon wedges 

Bring first 4 ingredients to a boil, in a medium saucepan. Gradually whisk in grits; reduce to simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, according to time on package. When the grits are done, stir in the cheddar cheese and next 4 ingredients, stirring until cheeses are melted. Cover and set aside, but keep warm. 

While the grits are cooking, fry in bacon in a large skillet, until crisp. Set aside on paper towel and reserve 1 tablespoon of drippings in skillet. Sprinkle the shrimp with salt and pepper, dredge in flour, and set aside. In the bacon drippings, saute the mushrooms about 5 minutes, or until tender. Add the scallions and cook for 2 more minutes. Add the shrimp and cook for 2 minutes, until the shrimp begin to brown. Stir in the chicken broth, lemon juice, garlic, and hot sauce, and continue to cook 2 more minutes, stirring to loosen brown bits from skillet.  Divide the grits into 4 large, shallow bowls, ladle the shrimp mixture over the grits, and top each with crumbled bacon. Serve with lemon wedges.

Note from Banu: I wanted to keep the shrimp looking beautiful, so I cooked them separately in a little butter and olive oil, and then added them to the top of the grits and mushroom sauce mixture. Also, I found that 2 tablespoons of lemon juice was a little much, so I'd decrease this amount, or add it slowly, to taste.

Cinnamon Scented Chicken Soup with Spelt and Chanterelle Mushrooms Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 02:48:00 +0000

It was frigid in New York this past weekend, and minus the snow, reminded me of weekends in Chicago, where, after hearing whatever hideous number below freezing the temperature would reach, and whatever unbelievable number of inches above twelve the snow would hit, I’d hibernate in my apartment with guilty pleasure DVDs and food to cook up into comforting meals. I wasn’t prepared enough for this past weekend’s freeze, and was caught with nothing fresh in the fridge, and only a few pantry items, but still managed to make a filling and savory, warming soup with what I had lying around.

Leftover from the chicken pie I made a couple weeks ago, I had two chicken breasts and some chicken broth in the freezer, and, in the pantry, after a little rummaging, I found dried chanterelle mushrooms, and a half-empty bag of spelt. I love spelt for its soft inside and crunchy outside texture; it has a squeaky clean kind of feeling to the tooth, probably because of its low gluten content. It feels substantial and filling, but without the gooeyness present in rice. When I opened the bag of earthy mushrooms I detected a faint cinnamon fragrance, which gave me an idea. I’d make chicken soup with cinnamon, spelt, and chanterelle mushrooms, and spicy chiles added to ramp up the temperature on this day, a day where even indoors, and wearing my wooliest woolen socks and my cashmereiest cashmere sweater, I was still shivering.

I am frequently surprised when I throw odd things together and my creation tastes good, and this is one of those cases. I’ve never really heard of cinnamon chicken soup before, but it works well, and my apartment smelled like a seductive North African or Persian kitchen while the soup was cooking. Cinnamon has all kinds of nutritional properties, too; it’s a known anti-microbial, helps control blood sugar, and in Chinese medicine is used as a warming herb. Come here, cinnamon, and cozy up with me, please; I think we've got some long, cold nights ahead.

Cinnamon Scented Chicken Soup with Spelt and Chanterelle Mushrooms Recipe

2 tablespoons butter, plus 1/2 to 1 tablespoon for sautéing the chicken breasts
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, sliced
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon tomato paste
crushed red pepper flakes, to taste
1 oz chanterelle mushrooms, dried
1/2 cup spelt
7 cups chicken broth, plus one cup of broth or water for soaking the mushrooms
1 bay leaf
salt and pepper, to taste
2 chicken breasts

Soak the chanterelles in one cup of heated broth, or one cup of warm water, until soft. Remove the mushrooms, reserving the soaking liquid for adding to the soup later. Roughly chop the mushrooms, and set them aside.

In a large, heavy bottomed pan, heat the butter. Add the onion, and sauté until translucent. Add the garlic, and stir a few times. Add the cinnamon and stir until fragrant. Stir in the tomato paste, and cook for a minute or so. Stir in the red pepper and the chanterelle mushrooms. Combine well.

Add the spelt to the pot, and combine the ingredients, until all the grains of spelt are coated. Pour the broth and the reserved mushroom soaking liquid into the pot; add the bay leaf; bring the liquid to a boil; and reduce the heat so that the liquid is at a low simmer. Cover, and cook gently until the spelt is cooked, about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, cut the chicken breasts into bite-sized pieces, and season with salt and pepper. Heat a sauté pan over medium-high heat, add the butter, and sear the chicken breast pieces on one side, until golden brown. Turn to the other side, cook briefly (be sure not to over cook), and set the chicken pieces aside. I added a little of the simmering soup at this point to the empty pan and stirred it around, in order to get all of the nice browned bits of chicken, and then added this goodness back to the soup.

When the spelt has cooked, add the chicken pieces to the soup, test for seasoning, and add more salt and pepper, if needed.

Serve immediately.

Penne Pasta e Fagioli (Pasta with Black Beans)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 16:32:00 +0000

I have finished my first week of staging Merce Cunningham’s Summerspace for The Juilliard School’s spring concert, and in five short days, I’ve already been inspired by the work of these twelve gorgeous dancers. Diligent, curious, and so strong, they are not only eager to learn the steps and the particular way of moving involved in a Cunningham work, but also about the philosophies of Merce Cunningham and John Cage, and after a productive first week, I am confident that they will inhabit the piece with animal grace and integrity.

I was busy all week reviewing notes, DVDs, learning steps, and then transmitting them in nightly rehearsals, so I didn’t have much time to put together a decadent meal. I knew I would need something hearty and simple to sustain me during the week’s work, so cooked up some beautiful farmers’ market black beans, and made a strange black bean version of pasta e fagioli. Lovely it is not, but inexpensive and tasty it’s got in spades.

For easy meals after work, I kept the cooked beans separated from the cooked pasta, and then combined them and heated just as much as I wanted to eat at any given time. Later in the week I made a dill-parsley-walnut-garlic pesto and added a little bit of this to the beans, too, for a strangely delicious mix, and a bright, fresh flavor.

Penne Pasta e Fagioli (Pasta with Black Beans)

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
3-4 large cloves of garlic, minced
red pepper flakes, or dried red chiles, to taste (I used a few crushed Mexican arbol chiles, because that’s what I had in the pantry)
1 1/2 cup dried black beans, soaked overnight (traditionally, this is made with white beans, but I used what I had)
water or stock
one large sprig of rosemary, chopped
one bay leaf

3/4 pound whole wheat penne pasta

pecorino di grotta, or parmigiano reggiano cheese, for grating on top

In a large heavy-bottomed pan, heat the oil and cook the onion until translucent. Add the garlic and the chile flakes, and stir briefly, until fragrant.

Add the beans, and enough water or stock to cover them by about an inch and a half or two inches, depending on how soupy you’d like your dish to be. Add the rosemary and the bay leaf. Bring the liquid to a boil, cover the pot, and reduce the heat. Simmer the beans until they are tender (about an hour), and then season with salt and pepper.

Cook the pasta according to the package directions, combine with the beans, and top with the grated cheese.

Chicken Pie Recipe (Kotopitta)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 22:43:00 +0000

Me and phyllo dough have a rocky relationship. It’s sad. I’m half Turkish, and in mid-life, I haven’t yet figured out how to work with it properly. My American mother used to make her phyllo dough by hand, something I can’t even imagine attempting, what with the cursing I am already doing handling the pre-made kind. When the dough is not fresh or if it’s been frozen too long, the thin sheets stick together and make me want to tear the entire package of delicate dough into little pieces and patch them together in haphazard strips and ribbons, throw the rest at the walls, and tell guests I made an art project out of the börek, pie, or pastries I’m making. Forget uniformity. I’m a non-conformist phyllo dough user.

When I have purchased freshly made phyllo dough at the market in Turkey, it is much easier to handle. Turkish phyllo is a little thicker than the Greek kind, tears less frequently, and is easier to brush with butter without breaking the individual sheets. But alas, I used the Greek kind, and it was frozen, and I was impatient, and the sheets tore when I was laying them in the baking dish, and tore further when I tried to brush them with butter.

But there is some good news here. This delicious Greek recipe is like a Mediterranean chicken pot pie. It comes from an out-of-print cookbook, Mediterranean the Beautiful, and it’s scrumptious. I like this dish as is, but as I was cooking, I imagined it being nice with some carrots, or parsnips, or some other root vegetable added to the chicken. But even without the extra vegetables, served with a salad and some crusty bread, it’s a simple lunch or light dinner. It might not be the easiest dish to keep beautiful for leftovers during the week, but who cares? If you’re like me, and you’ve done a phyllo collage, a phyllo mâché, or even more of a phyllo decoupage, it didn’t look so beautiful to begin with.

Go ahead, pack it up and take it into work; I’m sure the flavors will blend wonderfully after a couple of days, and besides, after what has happened in Haiti recently, we should all feel so fortunate to have any kind of chicken pie to eat, even a messy looking one.

Chicken Pie Recipe (Kotopitta)
from Mediterranean the Beautiful Cookbook, Joyce Goldstein

Note from Banu: In lieu of chicken stock, I poached my chicken in regular water, but you could flavor it a bit with some parsley sprigs, a small cut-up onion, a couple of crushed garlic cloves, basically any aromatics you have lying around that match the flavor profile of this recipe. I then used this broth (be sure to remove the aromatics) to add to the butter/flour mixture, and it tasted great.

4 cups chicken stock (or water, see above)
6 chicken breast halves, boned, or 1 4 lb chicken, cut into serving pieces
1/4 cup unsalted butter, plus 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 cup chopped green onion
1/4 cup all purpose flour (I used spelt, with fine results)
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups crumbled feta cheese
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
4 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
4 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint (optional)
salt and freshly ground pepper
12-14 phyllo sheets

Pour the chicken stock (or water) into a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the chicken pieces and simmer gently until the chicken is tender, about 25 minutes for chicken parts with bones, and 10 minutes for boneless breasts. Remove the chicken pieces from the stock and set aside to cool. Reserve the stock (or broth). When the chicken is cool enough to handle, remove the meat from the bones, if necessary, and shred into bite-sized chunks. Transfer the meat to a large bowl.

In a sauté pan over low heat, melt the 1/4 cup butter. Add the onion and sauté until tender and translucent, about 10 minutes. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring, for a few minutes. Gradually add 2 1/2 cups of the reserved stock (or broth), stirring well, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thick, 8-10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly.

Add the sauce to the chicken. Then stir in the eggs, feta, nutmeg, dill, parsley, and the mint (if using). Season to taste with salt and pepper. (I only added pepper, because the feta contained enough salt to season the dish.)

Preheat an oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Butter a 9 by 12 by 3 inch or 9 inch square baking pan. Lay 6 or 7 phyllo sheets in the pan, lightly brushing each one with melted butter before adding the next. Spoon the chicken mixture atop the phyllo and spread it evenly. Lay the remaining phyllo sheets on top, brushing each one with butter before adding the next.

Using a sharp knife, score the top few sheets into large squares. Bake until golden, 40-45 minutes. Let rest for 5 minutes, then cut into squares and serve very warm.

Serves 6-8

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Chicken and Tomato Curry Recipe, Ancho and Guajillo Chile Chicken Enchiladas Recipe, Oven Baked Börek with Mustard Greens, Feta and Walnuts Recipe

Yogurt Soup with Rice Filled Meatballs (Köfte) and Mint-Paprika Butter Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 00:02:00 +0000

When I am blue I eat yogurt. Plain yogurt. Usually with garlic. In soup, or with noodles. Sometimes topped with cayenne pepper and mint. I’ve been eating a lot of yogurt lately. January is a depressing month for me, and, it appears, for lots of my friends, too. One friend wants to buy a grow light for facial sunning in order to avoid seasonal affective disorder, another is planning a trip somewhere tropical, a couple are taking flax oil for mood stabilization, and I’ve been eating a lot of yogurt.

I haven’t really gotten in the swing of things yet this year, and this week has prolonged my readjustment. I was assigned to a medical malpractice case at jury duty, which will last nearly a week, and will take me out of my first classes of the semester at Juilliard. I was looking forward to seeing my students, and to going back to being a little more physical than the holiday lump I’ve been the past few weeks, but, alas, no go. I do feel like a responsible citizen sitting on this jury, and perhaps the knowledge that I am an active part of our judicial system, even in some small way, may help pry me out of the winter doldrums, even without the physical activity of dancing. And if not, there’s always more yogurt.

This is a mashup soup recipe based on recipes from Ayla Esen Algar’s The Complete Book of Turkish Cooking: one for kofte made with rice, and one for yogurt soup. The following recipe is similar to mantı, minus the noodles or garlic, and why I had a difficult time not devouring all of it in one sitting. It is warming and soothing while in the midst of the type of frigid weather most of the United States has been experiencing the last few weeks. Try it, tell me how you like it, and please share with me your own favorite comfort foods. I may need them; spring is far, far away.

Yogurt Soup with Rice Filled Meatballs (Köfte) and Mint-Paprika Butter Recipe
adapted from Ayla Esen Algar’s Yogurt Soup with Mint, and Köfte in Broth, from The Complete Book of Turkish Cooking

Note from Banu: I am lucky to be the member of a food coop near me where I buy affordably priced, organic, grass-fed meat which is humanely raised on local, sustainable farms, and even this meat I eat rarely. If you are an omnivore, I would encourage you to purchase this type of meat when eating meat at all. It is more expensive, yes, but eating less of it, fewer times a month, and paying more for this sustainable meat will save your health, your wallet, and the planet in the long run.

For the köfte (meatballs):

1 pound of ground beef (or lamb, or a combination of the two)
1 small onion, grated
1/2 cup parsley, finely chopped
1/2 cup rice (I used brown rice)
1 teaspoon salt
pepper, to taste

For the soup base:

1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped
6 cups of water
1 teaspoon salt (or more, to taste)
32 ounces yogurt
6 tablespoons flour (I used spelt flour)
4 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups water

For the topping:

butter (about 2 tablespoons)
dried mint
paprika or cayenne pepper

Combine the ingredients for the köfte in a bowl; use your clean hands to mix everything together. Form the meat mixture into small balls, about one inch in diameter. Set aside.

Heat the butter and the olive oil in a large pot. Cook the onion over medium-high heat until translucent. Add the water and the salt, and bring to a boil. When the water is boiling, add the köfte, lower the heat to a simmer, and cover the pot. Simmer the köfte until done, about 20 minutes if you used white rice, 30 minutes (or longer) if you used brown rice.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine the yogurt, flour, and egg yolks. Whisk everything together until smooth. Add the water until a thin batter forms.

Once the köfte are cooked, slowly add the yogurt mixture to the broth, stirring constantly, and carefully so as not to break up the köfte. Simmer, covered for 10-15 minutes until the soup thickens a bit. If it becomes too thick, add more water. Adjust seasoning, if needed.

In a small saucepan heat the butter. When the butter has melted, add a little mint and a little paprika or cayenne. Heat until sizzling.

Serve the soup in bowls, topped with a little of the mint-paprika butter.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Pasta with Ground Beef, Parsley, Garlic Yogurt, and Paprika Butter (Piç Mantı), Ground Beef and Herb Stuffed Eggplant, Tomato, and Zucchini (Etli Karışık Dolma), Spring Fava Beans with Garlic Yogurt Recipe

Collard Greens, Broccoli Rabe, and Chicken Sausage with Potatoes Recipe (Stamppot)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 00:53:00 +0000

One cold, wintry evening in The Netherlands I ate stamppot and fell in love. I was in Amsterdam staging a dance of Merce Cunningham’s for the Dutch National Ballet Company, and, in my off hours, I was eager to discover more about traditional Dutch cooking. This stamppot was one culinary delight amongst many I experienced, and highlighted my memories of that evening: from the texture of the woolen green coat worn by my dining companion, and his fascination with the makes and sizes of the ubiquitous Dutch bikes, to getting lost on the circular canals, ending up where we started, and deciding to have a pre-meal drink of jenever, the strong, and less junipery, precursor to gin. That night, at dinner, we talked of the skill and science behind the Dutch ability to keep the persistent water (which is eagerly lapping at their door) from flooding their country, and, after learning more about the engineering, we understood why many scientists hired to shore up the levees in New Orleans after Katrina came from here.

When I told Dutch friends of the family about my fantastic meal they chuckled. “You like stamppot?” they asked incredulously. “Sure, it’s good, but it’s not something we, as a people, are so proud of.” I suppose, for the Dutch, stamppot is common, simple, winter fare. A staple. Meat and potatoes. For me, it is associated with a fantastic meal, and of lovely memories of Amsterdam: of views of the Queen’s palace from my centrally located apartment, of exploring the city’s art and canals, of visiting the charming town of Edam to sample the cheeses made there, of devouring a rijsttafel, the multi-course Indonesian meal the colonial Dutch helped create, and of taking special trips to food markets to eat krokets, spiced meat rolled in breadcrumbs and deep fried. I even ate at FEBO. Yes, I did.

True, The Netherlands is known for fabulous raw herring sandwiches, smoked fish, pancakes (and the smaller, puffier, poffertjes), stroopwafels, take-home-delicious aged Gouda cheese, and for those tiny, and heavenly, chocolate sprinkles used to decorate one’s morning toast, but this simple pot of greens and potatoes is what I will remember most. Make it, and you, too, might remember a trip you took to The Netherlands, or perhaps your imagination will take you there. In any case, you’ll be nourished and sated inexpensively and deliciously, and you might even think of drifting peacefully down a canal in a pedal boat, stroopwafel in hand, colored, tilty buildings passing you by, so crooked you'll question if you've had one too many jenevers to drink. Make stamppot and go on a trip; you won't even have to visit a Dutch coffee shop to do it.

Collard Greens, Broccoli Rabe, and Chicken Sausage with Potatoes Recipe (Stamppot)

Note from Banu: this hearty and nutritious mixture of potatoes, leafy greens, and some type of meat, is simple to prepare, and a comforting, wintry, one pot meal. I make it with whatever type of green is available, kale, dandelion greens, mustard greens, broccoli rabe, etc.; choose whatever hearty green looks fresh in your store. I prefer stamppot with more greens and less potato, so using even three bunches of greens for the amount of potatoes in this recipe might not be too much. And losing the meat, and making a vegetarian version is perfectly acceptable, and would be delicious, too.

Sometimes I use bacon instead of sausage, and traditionally, the entire sausage, along with a little gravy, would be placed on top of a serving of the mixture of greens and potatoes. I like to mix everything together so I can eat bits of it for several days, and pack it up to take with me for lunch. Experiment with proportions; this is a fool-proof meal.

4 red potatoes, cut into 1 inch square cubes (or thereabouts)
4 Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 1 inch square cubes (or thereabouts)
2 tablespoons olive oil
9 oz chicken sausage, cut into bite-sized pieces (but this can be bacon, or any other type of sausage, and you may use more that this amount, or leave it out entirely)
2 medium onions, chopped
one bunch broccoli rabe (leaves removed and chopped, and stems chopped and kept separate)
one bunch collard greens (prepared as the broccoli rabe)
2 large garlic cloves, minced
3/4 pint half and half (or milk)

Fill a large pot with water, add the potatoes, bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook the potatoes until they are fork tender. Drain them into a colander.

Meanwhile, in a separate large pot, heat the olive oil, and add the sausage (unless you are using bacon, or fatty sausage, in which case, do not add any oil until after you cook the meat and determine if you need more oil for the onions and greens’ stems).

Cook the sausage over medium-high heat for a few minutes, until brown. Remove the sausage (or bacon), and set aside. Add the onions (and more olive oil, if needed), and cook for a few minutes. Add the greens’ stems, and cook everything until tender, and the onions are translucent. Add the chopped leaves of the greens, and stir around until just wilted.

Add the cooked potatoes to the greens, and mash everything together with a potato masher. Stir in the garlic cloves and the half and half (or milk) and mix well. Stir in the sausage or the bacon, and serve immediately.

Similar Recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Oven-Baked Pasta with Butternut Squash, Purple Kale, Crimini Mushrooms, White Beans and Nutmeg Béchamel Recipe, Pasta with Ground Beef, Parsley, Garlic Yogurt, and Paprika Butter (Piç Mantı), Swiss Chard, Lentils and Bulgur Wheat with Parsley, Garlic Yogurt Recipe

Guinness Stout Ginger Cake Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 15:24:00 +0000

My friend Sarah knows what she is talking about. “I know what you should blog about,” she said enthusiastically, offering me a slice of her homemade ginger-Guinness cake. Proud she was right to be; the spiced and not-too-sweet richness of this moist cake urged me to ask her for the recipe and make it for my sister and parents over the holiday break. A wonderful cake at this time of year, it triples as a sweet breakfast, a dessert, and an afternoon snack, and is so extraordinary it caused me to involuntarily dance around the house while singing these ridiculous made-up songs. Thanks, Sarah...

Sung to the tune of O, Tannenbaum:

O ginger cake, o ginger cake, you look like chocolate but you aren’t.
Not too sweet, and awfully moist, the epitome of holiday cake,
O ginger cake, o ginger cake, I’ll like you so much always.

O ginger cake, o ginger cake, I know you’ll never come out blue.
Easy to make, and not a pain, you barely stuck in the bundt pan,
O ginger cake, o ginger cake, please don’t be sad when we eat all of you.

O ginger cake, o ginger cake, you are so spiced and lovely.
Yes, I know, this song is dumb, but you are not, and there’s the rub,
O ginger cake, o ginger cake, friends we’ll be forever.

And, to the tune of Dreydl, Dreydl:

I have a tasty beer cake;
I think it’s really neat.
And when it’s baked and ready,
A beer cake I will eat.

Beer cake, beer cake, beer cake,
You’ll never let me down.
In twenty minutes or less,
I’ll be whirling round and round.

Finally, a beginning to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock:

Ginger cake, ginger cake, ginger cake freak. Ginger cake week, and ginger cake cheeks.
Dancing, and chanting, and singing out loud, I’m so lucky that no one’s around.

See what this cake has made me become? A multicultural dancing and singing fool, prancing around the house, waxing ridiculous about its merits. Make it for yourselves and your families for New Year and I’ll look forward to reading (and humming) the resulting songs. Come on, don’t be shy...

Guinness Stout Ginger Cake Recipe

by Claudia Fleming, from The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern

1 cup Guinness stout
1 cup molasses
1/2 tablespoon baking soda
3 large eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
3/4 cup grapeseed or vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 tablespoon grated, peeled fresh ginger root

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 9- X 5-inch loaf pan, line the bottom and sides with parchment, and grease the parchment. Alternatively, butter and flour a 6-cup Bundt pan.
2. In a large saucepan over high heat, combine the stout and molasses and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat and add the baking soda. Allow to sit until the foam dissipates.
3. Meanwhile, in a bowl, whisk together the eggs and both sugars. Whisk in the oil.
4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, ground ginger, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and cardamom.
5. Combine the stout mixture with the egg mixture, then whisk this liquid into the flour mixture, half at a time. Add the fresh ginger and stir to combine.
6. Pour the batter into the loaf pan and bake for 1 hour, or until the top springs back when gently pressed. Do not open the oven until the gingerbread is almost done, or the center may fall slightly. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: John Cage Cookies Recipe, Raspberry and Blueberry Whole Wheat Muffins Recipe, Maple-Pecan Cookies Recipe

Maple-Pecan Cookie Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 11:50:00 +0000

The final leg of our tour was Geneva, Switzerland, a place with which I have a love-hate relationship. On the positive side for Geneva is a cool lake for summer swimming, and, after a eucalyptus sauna at Les Bains de Pâquis, for winter cold-plunging. On clear days, visible snowy-peaked mountains hover in the distance, and give Geneva a ski-resort feeling, enlarge the small town, and illustrate that there is a world beyond its confining borders. There’s a fantastic women's consignment shop, where the rich wives of the city’s bankers discard their gently worn designer garments, and where, in 2002, I purchased a gorgeous pair of high-heeled slouchy red leather boots for a mere thirty dollars that I still wear. I love a few food-related spots here: an Italian trattoria that may serve the most flavorful Italian food I’ve eaten outside of Italy, a dingy but amazing Eritrean/Ethiopian restaurant, and a grocery store, Manor, where one can find all the fresh seafood available, an abundance of French and Swiss cheeses, and, for an American, luxury items like duck tenderloins, champagne, and decadent chocolates in every form. And there’s even a cafe on the upper floor with a view of those lovely Alps.

These things about Geneva I will miss, and I am even a little sad knowing that I will not create new memories in these places with my Swiss-from-Geneva soon-to-be-ex-husband. It was a challenging end of our tour, with him there, performing with us, his presence reminding me of our time together in that city, but I was surrounded by wonderful friends, also dancing in the project, and they kept me laughing, and helped me to make it through the few days without suffering a meltdown of women-in-dramatic-French-films magnitude, and with a bellyful of foie gras and fresh oysters to boot.

Our participation was requested in one of the events planned in Geneva: a debate concerning the legacy plan for Merce Cunningham, and whether the dance company should fold, as planned, after a two-year world tour, or continue. We had a show the previous night, so it was difficult to wake up and bare the snow, ice, and frigid temperatures to head to Carouge, one of the only architecturally charming sections of Geneva, but, after our talk, we were encouraged when we noticed platter after platter full of oysters waiting for us, along with tiny toasts topped with homemade foie gras, and cheese plates that included Gruyère, the Queen of Swiss cheese (perhaps of all cheese, in my opinion), and a perfumy one with black truffles embedded near the rind.

We drank a Sicilian white wine, freed the oysters from their shells with forks, and sucked them down, one after the other, a few drops of lemon the only ingredient necessary to create a delicate meal in a mouthful. These Prat ar Coum oysters grown by Yvon Madec in the north of Bretange may be the perfect oysters. They are cultivated in a place called Abers where the sweet water of the river meets the sea, an area that is dry in low tide. A balanced combination of American East Coast oyster brinyness with French oyster cucumber/watermelon flavor, they exuded sensual subtlety as well as the magnetic pull of the sea.

Cheerful and corpulent, Francis Tressens, the oyster man, is known all over town as a seafood connoisseur; he also cultivates his own biodynamic garden, and is familiar with all the hidden gem restaurants in Geneva. Wanting to retire from years of restaurant work, but still very passionate about food, he sometimes teams with Emmanuel Delaby, a young and talented chef, the maker of that foie gras, and the chef de cuisine at Flux Laboratory, the art gallery that hosted us.

Unable to resist, I bought some of Emmanuel’s Sauternes infused foie gras to take home to my parents and sister for Christmas. I love knowing the person attached to the hands that make or cultivate my food, and when I eat delectable bites of this rare treat over the holidays, accompanied by a glass of champagne, and surrounded by family, I’ll remember the good things about Geneva. Bad thoughts be banished; I’ll be dreaming foie gras induced dreams of oysters disguised as dancing sugar plums. Sugar plum oyster dreams, foie gras, champagne, and good family; what more does a girl need? Happy holidays, everyone; I hope that you all feel as fortunate as I do, challenging times or not.

Maple-Pecan Cookies

This recipe is a variation on John Cage Cookies, and comes to me courtesy of Laura Kuhn, director of the John Cage Trust. It was created by the Dia Beacon kitchen staff, who, in early 2009, participated with the John Cage Trust and transformed their cafe into a macrobiotic eatery.

1 1/4 cup ground pecans
1 cup ground oats
1/2 cup whole oats
1/2 cup white spelt flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup walnut oil
1 tablespoon vanilla

16 or so pecan halves

Mix the dry ingredients together. Mix the wet ingredients together. Mix both together. Roll into small balls and press a pecan half into each. Bake in a 350 degree Fahrenheit oven for about 13 minutes.

Note from Banu: I usually make my cookies a little large, and therefore increase the cooking time by a few minutes.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Raspberry and Blueberry Whole Wheat Muffins Recipe, John Cage Cookies Recipe, Sweet Potato-Pecan Drop Biscuits Recipe

Oven-Baked Butternut Squash, Purple Kale, Crimini Mushrooms and White Beans with Nutmeg Béchamel Pasta Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 14:09:00 +0000

I am on a three day break from my month-long tour and decided to take a side-trip to Brussels to spend some time with my old friend Cheryl. She and I have known each other for nearly nineteen years, danced together long ago with Merce Cunningham, and have only now reunited as colleagues for this Boris Charmatz dance project. She and her French husband now live with their adorable new baby in a charming and typical Belgian apartment, and yesterday, despite the bitter cold, we ventured out to the gilded and ornate Grand Place to take another look, and revisit memories of being in Brussels years ago, when we premiered Merce Cunningham’s Ocean at Le Cirque Royal.

Freezing in the Belgian cold, we cruised through the Christmas village where they were selling tartiflette Savoyarde (a decadent mixture of reblochon cheese and lardons and potatoes, mixed together in a massive cauldron and served in nearly every Christmas village I’ve visited while in France or near France), hot, mulled wine (also ubiquitous in Christmas villages in Europe, including Vienna, where we have just visited), Belgian waffles, or gaufres (in multiple flavors, and unique to Belgium, it seems), an array of sausages, and trinkets from the global market. Wanting to test out some Trappist beers, we ducked into a nearby brasserie to share a slightly bitter red Westmalle, a Rochefort 6, and, in honor of our ‘old times’ memories, a light Vieux Temps.

Reminiscing about ‘vieux temps’, we told stories of touring silliness, like when our friend Jared, who shared a boyish likeness to the Mannekin Pis, gracefully tumbled into the fountain, naked, tipsy, and peeing, while starring in a late-night video project by our friend Frédéric. We cried remembering when a colleague called the front desk and said, “Je ne suis pas le papier de toilette” (I am not toilet paper), when instead she wanted to say that she didn’t have any (avoir, not être), and we laughed about Cheryl’s predilection for stealing interesting glassware from several post-performance receptions, sometimes along with bottles of champagne meant for said glasses.

I am happy to be here, now, creating new memories with my good friend, Cheryl, and barring some strange and horrible circumstance, I am confident we will be sharing these memories in another nineteen years. Tonight, I will clink my Vieux Temps glass with hers and toast to us, and to all the old friends out there, friends so close they feel like family. Stolen glass or not, lucky us, lucky friends.

Oven-Baked Pasta with Butternut Squash, Purple Kale, Crimini Mushrooms, White Beans and Nutmeg Béchamel Recipe

Note: this recipe makes a massive amount of healthy, delicious and texturally varied food! I filled one large baking dish and another small one, so if that seems like too much for you, simply cut down on the amount of pasta and veggies.

Also, when I created this, I was in the mood for a creamy and rich pasta dish, but in my tasting, I found it equally delicious without the béchamel or cheese. If you’d like to make a vegan version of this, simply plate the dish after stirring all the vegetables together with the cooked pasta, and skip the baking in the oven step.

For those of you who want a little creamy heaven, don’t worry: this recipe is just creamy and rich enough to satisfy a craving, but there is relatively little cheese and milk and butter compared to healthy veggies, so go ahead and indulge.

For the pasta and vegetable mixture:

1 small butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1 to 1 1/2 inch square cubes (about three cups, but you can cut this down to two cups if you’d like to decrease the amount of food this recipe makes)
3 tablespoons olive oil, plus 1 tablespoon for coating the squash while roasting
1 medium onion, chopped
1 bunch of purple kale, stems chopped, and leaves roughly chopped
2 cups of crimini mushrooms, sliced
2 cloves of garlic, sliced thinly
1 14 ounce can of Great Northern Beans (or you can use fresh beans, if you’d like to make your own)
1 14 ounce can of diced tomatoes
1 pound of whole grain (I used whole wheat) pasta shells, fusilli or penne
salt and pepper, to taste

For the béchamel:

2 tablespoons of butter
2 tablespoons of flour
2 cups of milk
about 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, or a touch more, depending on your taste
salt, to taste

For the topping:

1/4 cup grated parmigiano reggiano
1/4 cup grated mozzarella

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, Fahrenheit.

Put the cut-up pieces of butternut squash into a roasting pan, coat with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and a little salt. Roast, turning them a couple times during cooking, until fork tender, about 30 - 40 minutes. Remove from the oven.

Turn the oven temperature down to 375 degrees F, once the squash has cooked.

For the pasta: put a large pot of salted water on the stove to boil, and when the water is boiling, add the pasta, and cook until al dente.

For the vegetables: Heat 3 tablespoons of oil in a large pot, add the onion and the kale stems, and cook until the onions are translucent and the kale stems have softened. Stir in the mushrooms, and cook until soft. Add the kale leaves, and cook until wilted. Stir in the garlic, the beans, and the tomatoes, and bring everything to a low simmer. Add salt and pepper, to taste. Cover, while you make the béchamel.

For the béchamel: in a medium saucepan, and over medium to medium-high heat, melt the butter. When the butter has melted, add the flour, whisking constantly, until the flour turns golden brown, about a few minutes. Slowly whisk in the milk, making sure to smooth out any lumps that form. Keep whisking at a simmer (lower the heat if the milk begins to boil), until a thickish sauce begins to form. Add salt and nutmeg.

Combine the cooked vegetables with the roasted squash and the pasta. Put this mixture into one baking dish (or two, depending on how much you have made) and pour the béchamel sauce evenly over everything.

Sprinkle the grated cheese over the top of the pasta, cover with foil, and bake in the oven for 20-30 minutes or so. Uncover the baking pans, and bake a bit more, until the cheese has melted and turned golden brown.

Similar Recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Pasta with Ground Beef, Parsley, Garlic Yogurt, and Paprika Butter (Piç Mantı), Conchiglie (Pasta Shells) with Gorgonzola and Garden Orache (or Radicchio) Recipe, Creamy, Thyme Scented Fusilli with Purple Asparagus, Green Peas, and Bacon

Pumpkin Seed and Black Sesame Seed Cornmeal and Whole Wheat Cracker Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 14:38:00 +0000

Wow, there’s nothing like being honored as a Blog of Note on Blogger to get one back on track with the postings. Sheesh! 6,432 page views in a day and a half! Over 150 new followers! Welcome, everyone; this is exciting. Thank you all for your comments and for your interest, I hope you will find useful recipes here, and enjoy reading about my life and travels.

I am working hard here in Paris, after having been working hard in Vienna, and before that working hard in Montpellier, and will soon head to Brussels, and then Geneva before packing for my Brooklyn home and a little rest. I am dancing in a project for Boris Charmatz, a French choreographer, and having a blast on stage with lots of old friends and colleagues from the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, where we all danced at some point in our lives. My body is achy from intense rehearsals and more shows than I’m used to, but what fun it is to be performing regularly again, and sharing the stage with such amazing talents.

Not only have I been away from my New York City home, but I have also been away from a kitchen of any sort until my arrival at the Citadines Hotel in Montmartre, where I have created a healthy one pot pre-performance meal of pumpkin, lentils, mushrooms, and chard. I like having a kitchen, because I can do familiar things like juice a lemon into my glass of water in the morning, make green tea, spread some olive oil on whole-grain toast for breakfast with a little avocado, or slice of cheese, or hard-boiled egg. There is a phenomenal organic market in Paris where I stocked up on provisions for my humble kitchen, but even these small comforts make an impersonal hotel room more like home.

Yes, I am aware that the picture I posted above looks like one of chocolate chip cookies, and I’m very sorry to disappoint those sweets lovers out there, but you will be happy to know that these pumpkin seed and black sesame seed crackers make a perfect vehicle to scoop up some feta-walnut spread, the subject of the previous post. I made these crackers over a month ago, and somehow managed to lose track of the sites I’ve adapted the recipe from, but as I recall, I combined two recipes and added my own ingredients, too, so let’s just call this an original. Impressive, simple, and inexpensive, after my first cracker attempt I’ll never go back to store-bought.

Pumpkin Seed and Black Sesame Seed Cornmeal and Whole Wheat Cracker Recipe

1 1/2 cups cornmeal
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/3 cup pumpkin seeds (be creative here and add any type of seed or herb, even, that you like)
4 teaspoons black sesame seeds
1/3 cup olive oil

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit

Combine all the dry ingredients and mix well. Add the olive oil and combine. Form the dough into small balls and press onto a lightly oiled baking sheet (or one covered with a silicone silpat), until about 1/8 inch thick, leaving a little space between crackers. Bake until golden brown. Makes about 3 dozen palm-sized crackers.

Alternatively, and for a more free-form and less chocolate chip cookie look, one could press the dough into a thin sheet covering the baking pan, cook until golden, and break them apart once cooled.

Other spreads from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance that would be delicious with these crackers: Almond and Sun Dried Tomato Basil Pesto, Hummus Recipe, Fresh Ricotta and Mint Recipe: a Spread with Purple Garlic and Olive Oil

Feta-Walnut Spread Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 22:41:00 +0000

I make this feta-walnut spread regularly. Inspired by a popular Turkish appetizer, I have modified my version from the recipes I have seen, and it only contains, feta, walnuts, olive oil, paprika, and cayenne pepper.

Walnuts are high in Omega-3 fatty acids, protect your heart from atherosclerosis, may help lower cholesterol, and have also been found to help prevent gall stones. I add nearly equal parts walnuts to feta in order to maximize these benefits, and usually seek out a more richly flavored sheep’s milk feta, too, which is generally easier to digest than cows’ milk.

I like this spread on toast in the mornings, or on a sandwich for lunch with some tomatoes and sprouts, or as an hors d’oeuvre at a party with some crackers. It is so simple to make, and surprisingly flavorful; guests at my house who have eaten this are usually baffled by what’s in it, and invariably ask for the recipe. Now, they have it, and you do, too.

Feta-Walnut Spread Recipe

2 cups walnuts
1 pound feta , crumbled (Bulgarian feta, or Turkish feta, either cows' milk or sheep’s milk; Greek feta is usually too mild for me, but some people might prefer it)
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup water
2 teaspoons paprika
cayenne pepper, to taste

In a food processor, grind the walnuts until they are in very small pieces. Add the crumbled feta and the olive oil to the bowl of the processor and mix until a smooth paste forms. If it is too thick, add the water now, slowly, through the feed tube, until a smooth paste forms. The spread shouldn’t be too thick, nor too thin, so add the water slowly. You may need more than 1/4 cup. Add the paprika, and the cayenne pepper. Mix well.

Spoon the spread out into a serving bowl and top with a drizzle of olive oil and some paprika. Serve with crackers or toasted pita bread wedges.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Hummus Recipe, Almond and Sun Dried Tomato Basil Pesto, Fresh Ricotta and Mint Recipe: a Spread with Purple Garlic and Olive Oil

Hoppin’ John Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 23:07:00 +0000

Last weekend, after feasting on fifteen intricate and gorgeous courses prepared by chef Curtis Duffy at Avenues Restaurant in Chicago’s Peninsula Hotel, I am having a difficult time blogging about my simple peasant food. The meal there was a work of art and an inspiration, and I will post about it as soon as I have gathered my thoughts about its fabulousness, but in the meantime, I’ll get back to the simple and practical basics. Here goes.

I make this bastardized version of Hoppin’ John frequently when the weather begins to turn cooler. It is easy to make, filling and flavorful, and goes well with the sweet potato-pecan biscuits I posted about a couple of weeks ago. I use bacon instead of ham hock (but this could be a tasty vegetarian dish without either), and I generally skip the rice, but with it, or with another carbohydrate, this makes a filling and nutritious meal. Playing off the typical Southern New Year's meal that's purported to bring luck and money, I add the collard greens directly to the Hoppin' John, instead of cooking the greens separately. I prefer it this way, stirring the greens in at the last minute, as the greens keep their integrity and don't end up mushy and over cooked. This stew is easy to pack up in a container to heat up for lunch, make as spicy as you like, and change the vegetable choices around according to what’s available.

This one-pot meal is inexpensive to make, and the counter to last Friday's decadence. Last week I was sipping champagne with good friends at the chef’s table in the lovely Peninsula Hotel, was waited on by a professional and attentive staff, and had a meal prepared for me by one of the most talented chefs in the city. Lucky girl. Now it’s back to my tiny kitchen, a few pots, and my artists’ budget. Good and simple Hoppin’ John sure makes me appreciate the very occasional truffles and Wagyu beef...

Hoppin’ John Recipe

2 cups dried black-eyed peas, soaked in water overnight
6 slices of bacon, cut into small pieces
1 large onion, chopped
2 medium carrots, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 large clove of garlic, minced
4 large Roma tomatoes, peeled and chopped, about 2 cups (or 1 14 oz can of crushed tomatoes)
6 cups of water
2 bay leaves
1 bunch of collard greens, chopped into medium-sized pieces
cayenne pepper, to taste
salt and pepper, to taste
scallions, chopped, for garnish

Heat a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the bacon, and cook until slightly browned.

Remove the bacon from the pot, keeping the bacon fat to cook the onion. If there is not enough fat in the pan, add a little vegetable oil. Cook the onion until translucent.

Add the carrots and the celery stalks, and cook until soft, but not mushy. Stir in the tomato paste, and cook for a minute or so. Add the garlic, the tomatoes, the water, and the bay leaves. Bring the mixture to a boil, and reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook until the beans are tender, and the vegetables are cooked.

Stir in the collard greens, and cook until wilted.

Add cayenne, salt and pepper to taste. (I sometimes like Tabasco sauce in this, so feel free to add it, if you like.)

Serve over rice, or with sweet potato pecan biscuits, or both.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Swiss Chard, Lentils and Bulgur Wheat with Parsley, Garlic Yogurt Recipe, Quinoa Salad Recipe, Sweet Potato-Pecan Drop Biscuits Recipe

Sweet Potato-Pecan Drop Biscuits Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 17:31:00 +0000

After I left Merce Cunningham’s dance company, I went to culinary school. The final part of our instruction entailed an internship at a restaurant, and since I had work in Chicago for a few months staging a piece of Merce’s, I decided that I’d like to work for a Chicago-based chef. I did a little research, and found Grant Achatz, molecular gastronomist, and now of Alinea Restaurant fame, who was then the chef at Trio restaurant in Evanston, Illinois.

There is a restaurant camaraderie that doesn’t exist in most jobs. Forced to spend hours and hours together, and work through stressful situations, an easy closeness develops in a short period of time. At 34, I was the oldest person, and only woman in the kitchen, and what might have been a recipe for disaster, turned out to be a wonderful experience. The chefs encouraged me, respected me, and guided me through the difficult work of a Mobil guide five star restaurant, one of only 13 in the country at the time.

Soon after beginning at Trio, chef Achatz sent me into the pastry kitchen to work under chef Curtis Duffy, now chef de cuisine at Avenues in Chicago’s Peninsula hotel. Immediately intimidated by his knife skills while watching him swiftly cut papaya into perfect brunoise (1/8 inch x 1/8 inch x 1/8 inch cubes), I was nervous to do much of anything for fear of messing up, but Curtis’s welcoming nature helped me to feel part of the kitchen, and he and another talented chef, John Peters, became my friends.

Chef Curtis has been asking me to come to Chicago to eat at his restaurant for awhile now, and next weekend I’m finally going. John Peters and I will be joined by two other friends, and we’ll sit at the chef’s table with a view of the action in the kitchen. Curious to eat chef Curtis’s highly acclaimed food, which I will surely discuss here afterward, I am also interested to see the interaction of the people in the kitchen, and hope they are learning as much and having as much fun as I did.

Sweet Potato-Pecan Drop Biscuits Recipe
from Peter Berley’s, The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen

1 1/2 cup shelled pecans, roughly chopped
1 pound sweet potatoes, peeled and diced (about 3 cups)
1 cup water
1/3 cup cider vinegar
1/4 cup pure maple syrup or honey
2/3 cup olive oil, unrefined corn oil, or melted unsalted butter (I use olive oil)
2 cups unbleached all-purpose or white bread flour (I use flour with the germ intact)
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cut cornmeal
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons fine sea salt
2 teaspoons freshly milled black pepper

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Lightly oil 2 baking sheets.

2. Spread the pecans on an ungreased baking sheet and toast in the oven for 8 minutes. Transfer them to a bowl to cool.

3. Steam the sweet potatoes until tender.

4. In a blender, combine the water, sweet potatoes, vinegar, oil, and maple syrup. Puree until creamy. Alternatively, pass the potatoes through the medium disk of a food mill into a bowl, then whisk in the water, vinegar, oil, and maple syrup.

5. In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and pepper.

6. Using a rubber spatula, fold in the sweet potato mixture and the pecans. Do not over mix -- a few lumps won’t matter, and you will wind up with lighter, fluffier, biscuits.

7. Drop the dough 1/2 cup at a time 2 to 3 inches apart on the baking sheets and bake for 15 minutes. Rotate the baking sheets for even browning. Bake for another 10 to 15 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of a biscuit comes out clean.

8. Serve warm.

Yield: 1 dozen biscuits.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Raspberry and Blueberry Whole Wheat Muffins Recipe,
German Good Friday Pancakes Recipe, Cauliflower, Mint, and Olive Quiche with Spelt and Rye Flour Crust Recipe

Coconut Curry Chicken Noodle Soup Recipe (Curry Mee)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:20:00 +0000

When I was in college, I skipped breakfast, ate popcorn and diet coke for lunch, and made tuna fish sandwiches or pasta with red sauce for dinner. It’s a wonder I’m still alive. My students at Juilliard are fortunate to receive nutrition counseling, and I am impressed to see them eating fruit, yogurt, and nuts between classes (protein and carbohydrates are necessary for muscle recovery, especially immediately after exercising), and from tupperware containers packed with leafy greens, sweet potatoes, lean meats or beans, and whole grains for their main meals.

The following recipe is for my former student Doug, who lives in Israel now. Doug is a recent graduate of The Juilliard School, an excellent dancer, and is making his way as a young member of the Batsheva Dance Company. He wrote to me a while ago saying that he is interesting in expanding his culinary repertoire, and that a recipe he made for coconut curry from The Joy of Cooking was lacking. Actually, what he said was, “I just made a chicken coconut curry recipe from The Joy of Cooking and it sucked. Edible but uninspiring.”

This one doesn’t suck. It is from the New York Times, and has been tested by them and by me, more than a few times. Forget conventional chicken noodle soup; to me, these complex, spicy citrus flavors are the ultimate comfort when autumn arrives. Enjoy, Doug; this is heaps better than a tuna sandwich for dinner, and more fun to make, too.

Coconut Curry Chicken Noodle Soup (Curry Mee): a recipe from the New York Times located here.

Note from Banu: This time I poached a whole cut-up chicken for 45 minutes in a couple of big pots of low-simmering water infused with some cilantro stalks, a few crushed garlic cloves, some curry leaves, and a sliced up onion. I removed the chicken pieces, shredded the meat as I picked it off the bones, and returned the bones to the simmering broth for about another hour and a half. I strained the stock, used half of it for the soup, and froze the other half for another use. Since the chicken was already cooked, I added it at the last minute, along with the noodles. I like this soup with chicken, but I am sure this would be fantastic with some shiitake mushrooms and tofu, for a vegetarian version.

I ate little bits of this soup all week, so cooked the noodles (I used mung bean noodles this time) at the last minute, so they wouldn’t get soggy. Also, I garnished with sunflower sprouts instead of bean sprouts, and I forgot to garnish with the cilantro for the picture, but it's a lovely addition to the flavors of this soup.

Time: 45 minutes

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small onion, minced
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1 tablespoon minced lemon grass or pale green cilantro roots
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dark red chili paste, such as sambal, more for serving
3/4 pound boneless, skinless chicken thigh or breast meat, thinly sliced and cut into bite-size pieces
3 tablespoons curry powder, preferably Malaysian, Thai or Vietnamese
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1 can (14 ounces) unsweetened coconut milk
1/2 cup half-and-half
4 cups chicken stock
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 tablespoon sugar, more to taste
About 12 kaffir lime leaves or curry leaves, fresh or frozen (optional)
8 ounces dried thin rice noodles (bun or vermicelli), or other Asian noodles such as udon or lai fun
Salt to taste
1 cup bean sprouts
3 tablespoons chopped cilantro
2 scallions, cut into thin rings
2 shallots, thinly sliced and deep fried in vegetable oil until brown (optional)
Quartered limes for serving.

1. Heat oil in a medium pot over medium heat. Add onion, ginger and lemon grass and cook, stirring, until softened, about 10 minutes. Do not brown; reduce heat if necessary. Add garlic and chili paste and stir until fragrant. Raise heat, add chicken and stir-fry one minute. Add curry powder and paprika and stir to coat. Then add coconut milk, half-and-half, chicken stock, turmeric, fish sauce, sugar and lime or curry leaves. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 7 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, cook rice noodles in boiling water according to package directions (about 4 minutes). Rinse and drain.

3. Taste broth and adjust seasonings with salt and sugar. Divide noodles into large soup bowls. Bring broth to a boil, then ladle over noodles. Top with bean sprouts, cilantro, scallions and fried shallots, if using. Pass limes and sambal at the table.

Yield: 4 main-course servings.

Note: To make this rich soup more substantial, boiled potatoes are sometimes added to the simmering broth and cooked until very soft.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Roasted Winter Squash and Apple Soup Recipe, Mushroom-Studded Tortilla Soup with Chipotle Chiles and Goat Cheese Recipe, Sorrel and Stinging Nettle Soup Recipe

Enchiladas Verde with Tempeh, Leeks, Goat Cheese, and Maitake Mushrooms Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 19:13:00 +0000

Except for breakfast, I haven’t been so hungry lately. In the mornings, I might have whole grain toast with a little flax oil, some cheese (maybe a goat milk gouda, or some chive-spiked English Gloucester), perhaps a bit of avocado, some cherry tomatoes, green tea (or coffee, depending on the amount of sleep I’ve gotten), and a piece of fruit. If I have a sweet tooth in the morning (unusual, but occasional), I’ll have some granola with yogurt, or peanut butter or almond butter on toast with honey in the comb or jam, or, if it’s the weekend, I might imagine making biscuits or French toast to share with a virtual someone. But the part of my day that involves eating in the hours after breakfast is being largely ignored lately.

After traveling for much of the summer, I’m only now again embracing the routine of cooking to pack my lunches, and last week I made some very weird food. To satisfy the Mexican food craving that inevitably hits after a long trip to Europe, I made enchiladas filled with tempeh, leeks, chipotle chiles, goat cheese, maitake mushrooms, and topped with salsa verde. Immediately out of the oven, I hated everything about my improvised meal, but packed for lunch the next day with some refried beans, additional chipotle chiles, and sour cream, it was actually pretty tasty, and reminded me why eating food at lunchtime is not a bad idea.

But the most memorable thing I ate this week is a burger I had at a friend of a friend’s house, on the rooftop, from the grill. Not for the burger itself, but for the accidental semi-raw entire piece of garlic I found in the burger, a piece of garlic that I didn’t remove, but chewed up eagerly, thinking I was likely to head home soon, and wouldn’t further talk to anyone I didn’t know. I don’t think I’ve been in a relationship with someone who didn’t like garlic, so I’ve generally had a partner eating the crushed cloves in my simple tomato sauces, the cloves that my friend Julia’s Roman boyfriend, while instructing me in the traditions of Italian cooking, advised me to take out once the sauce has finished simmering. I have not been alone in smearing the roasted cloves on toast, devouring the crispy ones whole, Mexican-style, with some toasted arbol chiles and peanuts as a snack, or eating the intense raw garlic yogurt sauces that are so popular in Turkish cooking.

When I was just out of college, I was seduced by the lingering smell of cut garlic on my future boyfriend’s hands; a sign that he was generously cooking dinner for his friends and family, that he understood the sensuality of food and cooked with my favorite flavors. I’m single again, now, yeah, and I’m sure that any new guy I’d like to share food with will not be bothered by a little garlic breath. He will probably have it, too.

Enchiladas Verde with Tempeh, Leeks, Goat Cheese, and Maitake Mushrooms Recipe

For the salsa verde:

about 16 tomatillos, husked, washed, and quartered
1 medium onion, quartered
2-3 cloves of garlic
1 jalapeño, cut into pieces
half a bunch of cilantro, chopped
salt and pepper, to taste

For the filling:

1 medium leek, trimmed, cleaned, and chopped
2 8 oz packages of tempeh (I used flax seed tempeh), cut into medium-sized cubes
about 4 oz of fresh goat cheese, crumbled
1 large maitake mushroom, cut into pieces
1 chipotle chile in adobo sauce, minced, plus a little of the adobo sauce
salt and pepper, to taste

about 12 corn tortillas

To make the salsa verde:

Purée the first four ingredients in a food processor until smooth. Heat the sauce in a saucepan over medium heat and cook gently for about fifteen minutes. Stir in the cilantro, and set the sauce aside.

To make the filling:

Heat a little oil in a large pan and sautée the leeks until soft. Remove them, set aside, and let cool.

Pan-fry the tempeh in a little oil until browned on all sides. You may have to do this in batches, so you don’t crowd the pan. Set aside to cool.

In a medium sized bowl, mix all the ingredients together, and set aside.

To make the enchiladas:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Heat a small pan over medium heat and gently warm the corn tortillas until pliable.

Pour a little of the salsa verde into the bottom of the pan you will cook them in so the enchiladas won’t stick to the bottom.

Fill the corn tortillas with the tempeh-leek mixture, roll them up, and place them next to each other, seam side down, in the pan.

Smother the enchiladas with the salsa verde, and cook, covered, for about 30 to 40 minutes.

Similar posts from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Ancho and Guajillo Chile Chicken Enchiladas Recipe, Mushroom-Studded Tortilla Soup with Chipotle Chiles and Goat Cheese Recipe, Chipotle Chicken Salad Tacos Recipe

Pineapple, Red Pepper, Jalapeño, and Basil Salad Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 23:13:00 +0000

I have done a lot of dancing in my life. I began studying ballet when I was six, danced seriously through high-school, continued, though not as rigorously, in college, and for the last eighteen years I have been traumatizing my body in various ways by performing, teaching, and staging the works of Merce Cunningham. Ok, it hasn’t always been painful, but age, and the ferocity with which I approach my profession (both physically and mentally) have taken a toll.

Lately, my back has been bothering me so much that even bending to shave my legs in the shower has been painful. I was worried I’d soon end up like old cats who develop hair mats when they can no longer groom their haunches, and, unwilling to accept this unattractive fate, quickly called the doctor. An x-ray revealed a severe lessening of space between the L-5 and L-4 vertebrae (in my lumbar spine), and likely arthritis. I did a little research, and read that ginger is very effective in decreasing the inflammation associated with arthritis, and saw the same thing about vitamin C-rich pineapple, which also contains a mixture of enzymes called bromelain, which is known to relieve the swelling associated with several other conditions, too.

Dancer or not, it can’t hurt to add these anti-inflammatory foods to your diet. They will help relieve pain, and may also reduce the risk of some cancers. My acupuncturist prescribed the ayurvedic anti-inflammatory herb boswellia, and I’ve been eating about a tablespoon of raw ginger every morning after breakfast. I went to a yoga class specifically geared for back care, and between these natural remedies and the following pineapple salad, I am in much less pain, and my legs are, again, as smooth as silk.

Pineapple, Red Pepper, Jalapeño, and Basil Salad Recipe

adapted from Savoury Pineapple Salad from World Food Cafe by Chris and Carolyn Caldicott

One pineapple, peeled, cored, and cut into large chunks
One red pepper, seeded, and cut into strips
One jalapeño, chopped into small pieces
A handful of basil leaves, torn into pieces (I used purple basil this time)

Combine everything, and serve chilled.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Quinoa Salad Recipe, Green Beans with Mushrooms Recipe (Sem Aur Khumbi), Gingered Tofu and Seaweed Salad with Shiitake Mushrooms and Sesame Seeds Recipe

Purslane and Cherry Tomato Yogurt Salad Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 18:00:00 +0000

Last night, anticipating a vibrant sunset, I poured a glass of wine and went up to my roof to listen, look, and think. Watching the planes come in to land at La Guardia, all in a lineup, five in a row, I wondered if anyone in those planes was passing above their house, like I sometimes do, and perhaps saying to a seat mate, “See, there? The tall building at the edge of the green, there? That’s my house; I live there,” and I wasn’t sure why I felt connected to all those people up there flying around.

I was comforted by the meditative white noise of the whirring cars on the BQE, and by watching the F trains come and go, shuttling thousands of people from work and play and adventures, taking them to and from events filled with grief, euphoria, or perversion. I wondered about the crimes of the people housed in the nearby prison, and I felt for those falsely accused. They don’t feel this perfect breeze on their skin, watch the ferries pass; they don’t see the pink and red ribbons appear in the sky and turn Manhattan a kind of glowy steel color in contrast, the imminence of the city’s lights a given.

I wondered if the new cell phone tower on my roof made my landlord any money, and if the waves were giving us all cancer. And then I dismissed this thought, imagining the thousands of cell phone towers all over the city projecting waves out and around, and I painted the waves in color, and I bet they look like a giant 70s thread sculpture/wall-hanging thing of a light blue and dark blue ship with tall sails, and I bet our brains are right in the middle of all those threads, between the pins at the edge, getting incessantly bombarded from the bow and the stern and the mast. Bad for our health, yeah. Probably doesn’t matter if there’s a tower right above my head.

The smell of the baking bagels from the roof is even stronger than from my apartment. These bagels are a tease: cinnamon and raisin, onion, blueberry, it doesn’t matter; these bagels are not for sale. Hermetically bagged for shipment behind those walls, I wouldn’t even know it was a bagel factory were it not for the mistakes they throw away in the dumpsters outside and for the bagel-making people hanging around, smoking, transparent shower caps on their heads, and wearing what look like white nurse outfits. Maybe they're saving the misfit bagels from the rats.

I am as at peace in that moment on my roof as I may have ever been. This is one of those try-to-remember moments when things aren’t going right. You know, when you're alone, and you try to zip your dress, and you can’t quite get the zipper to the top, and you're unable to find the single-girl gadget that your sister gave you to elongate your reach when no one is around to help you attach your bracelet, or zip your dress, so you have to change clothes, and you're uncomfortable, and you hate what you have on because it isn’t the original thought? Or when there’s a nor'easter, and hail is pelting you in your face; water is leaking into your boots; your scarf is strangling you in the wind like it did Isadora (but not all the way); you’re late for teaching class because the trains are flooded; a stranger yells at you for bumping her accidentally with your bag, and you find out someone has charged trips to South Africa and Thailand on your debit card? During those kinds of days I will try to remember this moment. This moment, up here with the breeze and the planes and the strangeness and the millions of people all around me; this moment feels like home.

Purslane and Cherry Tomato Yogurt Salad Recipe

Without the tomatoes, this is a classic Turkish recipe from the Aegean region, commonly served cold in the summertime. Purslane, a weed, is one of the most nutritious plants on the planet, and contains even Omega-3 fatty acids. If you can’t find purslane, you could easily substitute baby spinach, or any other tender green of your choosing.

a substantial amount of purslane (or spinach), washed and trimmed
some cherry tomatoes, halved
a quart of yogurt (I used goats’ milk yogurt)
one garlic clove, minced
salt, to taste

Combine everything in a bowl, stir, and chill.

When ready to serve, drizzle with a little olive oil.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Zucchini Pancakes with Dill and Feta Cheese Recipe, Fresh Ricotta and Mint Recipe: a Spread with Purple Garlic and Olive Oil, Spring Fava Beans with Garlic Yogurt Recipe

Poached Eggs in Red Wine Sauce (Oeufs en Meurette)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 11:49:00 +0000

In my life, lately, a phony has been masquerading as the real deal. I got married to someone who committed to me, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live, and then mysteriously bailed on me after a mere year and a half. And In Lyon, France, once the gastronomic capital of the culinary world, the cooks in those marvelous traditional bouchons are using Maggi bouillon cubes instead of long-cooked homemade stock. The workhorse of French cooking, stock is the basis for everything here, soups, sauces, and without it, you have a house with no foundation, a choreography with no dancers, a marriage without a husband.

Planning some blog entries, and wanting to make something traditional, from the bouchons, I looked at the menu of my favorite one, Café des Fédérations, and saw oeufs en meurette listed. I’ve been curious about these poached eggs in red wine sauce for a while now, and having only Saturday to cook, I thought it would make an excellent, and very French, brunch.

At the market I found shallots, eggs, garlic, poitrine de porc (to make the tasty ham strips called lardons), freshly churned butter, parsley, and hearty whole wheat bread. A tannic red, a Bourgogne, came from the wine shop, and poultry stock or veal stock from? I was stuck. I couldn’t roast bones and make stock in my tiny apartment kitchen, and didn’t want to use chemical-laden bouillon cubes, but this is France, surely there is homemade stock available somewhere.

I asked at the butcher, and they drew me a map to Picard, a strange and antiseptic store full of only freezers and frozen foods, but no frozen stock. I asked at the grocery store. No. I asked at the bouchon called Chez Paul, across the street from Café des Fédérations, and they directed me to a gourmet shop around the corner. Yes, they will have it, I was assured. It comes in a small container, just what we use, she said. Yet, once at the shop, they presented me with Maggi bouillon cubes. No, not that, “Je cherche le vrai fond de veau ou volaille,” So, as a last resort I hesitantly entered my favorite bouchon.

This bouchon is where my future husband and I celebrated our engagement with our invited families. Mine came from the US, his from Switzerland and France, and there we ate our way through the various specialties of Lyon: lentil and poached egg salads, quenelles with crayfish and lobster sauces, roasted leg of lamb, tripe sausages in mustard sauce, and Saint-Marcellin and cervelle de canut cheeses for dessert. The food at this restaurant was phenomenal, and the convivial atmosphere begged for a repeat visit.

I entered the restaurant and told the manager that I had been looking all over for real veal or poultry stock, and would they please just sell me a small container of it, I would be most appreciative, s’il vous plait.

“On n’a pas le vrai fond de veau,” she said, dropping the news like a week-old baguette. You what? You don’t have real veal stock? What with all the sauces you are making? Oeufs en meurette is on your menu, for crying out loud, and you don’t make your own stock? No, she says, we use bouillon cubes from the store, like everyone else.

So, armed with the truth, I've got a plan. Before my departure to NY, I'd like to eat at a bouchon as a farewell to Lyon, and I have decided that I will first call up a few places to ask which ones use homemade ingredients, including stocks, before choosing my destination. How I wish it were as easy with people. Hello, husband? Are you the real deal? Do you roast your own bones? What time is the last service? Oh, and are you insistent on turning tables, or will you let me stay awhile?

Poached Eggs in Red Wine Sauce (Oeufs en Meurette)
adapted from a recipe at épicurien

Note from Banu: In keeping with the tradition of this post, I will call this kinda sorta phony oeufs en meurette, because I've seen recipes that appear more authentic than this one, and now that I look carefully, the recipe I used as a guide is Belgian! Other recipes use a bouquet garni (an assortment of herbs assembled to add flavor and fragrance to the broth), and ask you to poach the eggs directly in the sauce, before reducing it. As a novice egg poacher, I like this recipe because the eggs are poached in a separate, albeit milder (more boring) broth, but the filaments of egg white that remain after novice egg poaching will float around in a sauce you discard, and not one you eat. This is a fairly simple way to get the main idea of the oeufs en meurette, while still using real stock, which is easily found in liquid containers in most grocery stores in the US. Or, for the realest deal oeufs en meurette, you could make your own.

8 very fresh eggs
3 shallots, chopped
about a cup of bacon or pancetta, chopped (or, if you’re in France, poitrine de porc, demi sel - lard)
one bottle of tannic red wine, such as Bourgogne or Syrah
1 1/2 to 2 cups of veal stock or poultry stock
4 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour
8 small slices of crusty wheat bread
2 garlic cloves, halved
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 stalks of fresh parsley, chopped
salt and pepper

Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter in a large pan, and add the bacon or pancetta or lardons, and cook over medium high heat. When the pork is browned slightly, remove the meat from the pan, and saute the shallots in the butter, until soft and translucent. Add 3/4 of the bottle of red wine and the stock, and let the mixture reduce over low flame until 2/3 of it remains. Add the pork back to the sauce. Stir in the chopped parsley, and remove from the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Meanwhile, bring a liter of water, the remaining red wine, and the red wine vinegar to a very low simmer (the bubbles should barely break the surface). Very carefully, add an egg to the water, cooking them one at a time, so the whites don’t break up. Poach, gently, in the liquid for 3-4 minutes, or until the yolk is cooked a little, but still soft. Take out the egg, and let it rest on a paper towel, to soak up the extra liquid. Repeat with the other eggs.

Toast the slices of bread, and rub them with the garlic halves.

Just before serving, incorporate the flour into the remaining two tablespoons of butter by cutting them together with a knife, or a fork. Stir this butter and flour mixture into the sauce.

Place a little sauce on a plate, place two slices of toast on each plate, and top with an egg each. Pour a little more sauce over the eggs. Serve immediately.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Cauliflower, Mint, and Olive Quiche with Spelt and Rye Flour Crust, Raspberry and Blueberry Whole Wheat Muffins,
German Good Friday Pancakes and Homemade Sausage Patties

Lunch in Lyon

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 17:31:00 +0000

On my way to the market this morning, a crooked gray-haired man with leathery sunned skin and a basketful of summer’s harvest under his arm, leaned in as he passed, and, cigarette dangling from his lips, said to me, “très jolie.” Ah, you made me smile little Frenchman, and I remembered an experiment I’ve wanted to try: instead of giving weight to the things that annoy me in life, I’ve wanted to see what would happen if I commented on all the nice thoughts that pass through my mind.

In France, that translates to forgetting the time in Paris when the server questioned why I needed a paper napkin with my coffee, and when I answered honestly, and in French, that I had a cold, and didn’t have any tissues with me to blow my nose, the server replied, “this is a café , not a pharmacy,” and delivered my coffee straight, no napkin. It also means ignoring the time in Lyon when the shopkeeper pulled the carpet up from under my feet as I was passing by, unconcerned that I might have fallen, and it means forgiving the Tabasco incident a while ago, when the French waiter refused to bring the hot sauce for my brunch potatoes because “it is not done”.

It involves a new way. It involves seeing the lovely things here: the pastries that look like lacquered jewels in shop windows (and taste as rich), the red terracotta tiled rooftops sloping with the slow shift of the earth, their brick chimneys rising haphazardly like an obstacle course at dusk for the flying swifts. It means taking in the fragrance of the market (and the character of the brusque but jovial farmers who sell there), the thyme-infused tapenade, the wine soaked goat cheese studded with cloves, the summery rosé with just a hint of pink. It involves appreciating the beauty of a culture that names a fruit mirabelle, that takes an hour and a half for lunch, and funds the arts because, for the French, art is as essential as food. I am smiling as I wander these twisty intimate streets, the sun shining on and shadowing different bits of facades with each turn. The rivers. The churches. The fountains. The old town. The market. The cobblestones. The golden tiptops of buildings. Très jolie...

Pasta with Ground Beef, Parsley, Garlic Yogurt, and Paprika Butter Recipe (Piç Mantı)

noreply@blogger.com (Banu) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 20:03:00 +0000

After a breakup, comfort food is in order. Growing up in a half-Turkish household with an adventurous American cook for a mother, I am aware that my comfort food may be someone else’s challenge. I was born, and spent the first 18 months of my life in Turkey, and, as a baby, I rejected milk and adored yogurt, so consequently, many of my most soothing dishes involve it. Mantı is my favorite food of all time: a dish created by East Asians and introduced to Turkey by itinerant Turkic and Mongolian tribes, it consists of hand made dumplings filled with a mixture of ground lamb or ground beef, parsley and onion, and it is served with a warm garlic yogurt sauce, paprika butter drizzled on top. Because of the labor involved in making and rolling out the pasta dough, my mother copied a friend’s version, and used pre-made dried pasta from the store. Because it isn’t true mantı, my parents’ friends named this iteration piç mantı, or bastardized mantı, and this is the name I knew it by, even as a small child.

Two weeks ago, in the midst of a life change, I couldn’t cook. At the Union Square market I decided that I would purchase things that I could simply cut and eat, no cooking involved. I bought whole grain organic bread, to cut and toast, and added heirloom tomatoes, to cut and put on the bread with a little olive oil and sea salt. I bought some raw milk cheddar cheese to eat with those tomatoes and bread, and Persian cucumbers, to eat whole. I found some organic purslane, one of the most nutritious plants in the world, containing even Omega 3s, that I would wash, and eat entire stems of out of the refrigerator. Same with some purple kale. And I bought kimchee, rich in vitamin C, no cutting needed. Then I saw some grass fed ground beef and fresh goats’ milk yogurt, and comforting piç mantı was then added to the menu; I’d only have to cut the onions and parsley.

On a Turkish summer vacation once, when I was a child of about 7 or 8, and not knowing what the piç part of piç mantı meant, I returned home, confused and in near tears, after my Turkish friends made fun of me when I told them the name of my favorite food. Now I make both types of mantı, the hand rolled type when feeling ambitious, and the quick way when even cutting seems like a chore. Bastardized mantı, you did the trick: I’m in Lyon, France now, having just returned from the glorious market with plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables to cook up. This life is too beautiful for wallowing; onward!

Pasta with Ground Beef, Parsley, Garlic Yogurt, and Paprika Butter (Piç Mantı)

1 pound pasta shells (I used fusilli, because that’s what I had, but I prefer it with shells, because it holds the sauce better)

For the yogurt sauce:

1 quart yogurt (usually this dish is prepared with cows' milk yogurt, but I made it with goats’ milk this time, and it was fine, if a little more unusual)
1-2 cloves of fresh garlic, chopped (this is to your taste. I love garlic, so can add even more than 2 cloves. Use your judgment.)
Salt, to taste

For the meat mixture:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 pound ground beef (or lamb)
1/2 cup flat leaf parsley, chopped
salt and pepper

For the butter topping:

2 tablespoons of butter
1 teaspoon paprika (or a little more, depending on your taste)

At the table:

I serve this with sumac, which can be purchased at Penzey’s, and with cayenne pepper. Some people like it with dried mint flakes. Serving all three at the table, so your guests can choose their own preferred combination would be ideal.

Put a large pot of salted water over high heat to boil.

Put a large bowl somewhere warm (I put it near the stove), and add the yogurt, garlic and salt to the bowl. Let it come to room temperature while you execute the other steps.

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat, add the onion, and let it cook until translucent, but not browned. Add the ground beef, and cook until browned. Turn off the heat, season with salt and pepper, and stir in the parsley.

When the pasta is cooked through (according to the package directions), remove from the heat, drain, and save a little of the cooking water for adding to the yogurt sauce.

Combine the pasta, yogurt sauce, a little of the pasta’s cooking water, and ground beef. Mix well.

Quickly, in a small saucepan, heat the butter and the paprika until sizzling. Serve the pasta, yogurt and meat mixture in individual bowls, and top each bowl with the sizzling paprika butter.

Serve with sumac, dried mint, and cayenne pepper.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Ground Beef and Herb Stuffed Eggplant, Tomato, and Zucchini (Etli Karışık Dolma), Conchiglie (Pasta Shells) with Gorgonzola and Garden Orache (or Radicchio) Recipe, Creamy, Thyme Scented Fusilli with Purple Asparagus, Green Peas, and Bacon